


Family is far more than blood

by Defira



Series: Wild Mage [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corinne Trevelyan has not had the most conventional upbringing. As a mage born to a noble family, her path in life should have been assured- a quiet life in a Circle tower, her family connections offering her a measure of security and luxury not usually afforded to mages. </p><p>But fate, it seems, has something different in store for Corinne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 9.13 Dragon

Corinne had been born early, her entrance into the world setting the standard for what she would come to be known for- overly eager and prone to leap into action without a moment’s hesitation, brash and excitable and determined to work to her own schedule, everyone else be damned. 

Lady Hura Trevelyan had felt the first pains during breakfast, and in her panic had upended a teapot, ruining the Antivan silk tablecloth. She had not even reached her eighth month, after all, and while she’d already borne two children, nothing about this pregnancy had been pleasant. Neither she nor her husband wanted to take responsibility for the possibility that the child could be a mage, each blaming the other’s lineage for the surprise appearance of magic. 

They still held out hope, of course, that the hedgewitch would be wrong, and that the life Hura carried within her would be perfectly normal. The Trevelyan family was old and powerful, but not so powerful that it would withstand the scandal of a mage-blooded child. Not when the family still revered the old gods and spirits in private, and kept their own shrines in discreet closets. 

If the child was a mage, as the family’s indentured hedgewitch had predicted many months ago now, there was no question about what would need to happen. The needs of the family came ahead of the needs of the individual. 

If the hedgewitch was right, the child would not be in the house come nightfall.

Thus Nadifa, the hedgewitch in question, found herself dashing through the manor one bright and sunny morning in Bloomingtide, weaving in and out of the other servants blocking the hallways as she rushed towards the bedchamber of her mistress to assist with the birth. 

She’d feared the worst when she and her husband’s breakfast had been interrupted by frenzied knocking at the door, even more so when she’d seen the panicked look in the eyes of the elven servant girl who’d been sent to collect her. The lord and lady had quite candidly discussed disposing of the child several times now, and each time Nadifa had felt her soul darken with grief a little more.

She’d only been with the Trevelyans for going on eighteen months now. Her gifts were simple enough- she had a knack for herbs and an eye for the workings of fate. To think that she might have had a hand in the death of an innocent child, no matter how removed from the decision her part had been...

She burst into the main bedroom, heart thundering in her chest as she prepared herself to face the worst. 

And instead was met with the scornful look of the Lady herself standing calmly by the window, who rolled her eyes at her dramatic entrance. “Good of you to join us,” she said disdainfully, a little more caustic than usual. Nadifa chalked it up to her stress at the impending birth, and ducked her head respectfully. 

Lady Hura let out a pained grunt, grimacing as she placed a hand over her belly, and Nadifa leapt into action. Hura had already changed out of her day clothes and back into her nightgown, and her carefully styled hair had been hastily pulled back to get it out of the way. “Have you taken your morning tonics-”

“I’m not daft, girl,” Hura snapped, waving her off, “I would hope after three children I would be a little more practised than you seem to think.”

Nadifa bit back a retort on her lips. “I am simply concerned for the welfare of yourself and the child, mistress,” she said diplomatically. “How far apart are the pains?”

“Not close enough. We have a while yet.” 

But Corinne- although she was not yet Corinne at that point, just an unnamed potential- was ever impatient, and it was only an hour later that Hura was resigned to the bed, the intensity of the contractions leaving her unable to support her own weight. 

Nadifa knelt between her legs, her hands aching from trying to soothe the worst of Hura’s birthing pains. “I can see the head, my Lady,” she said. “It’s not long now.”

Hura was drenched in sweat, pressing her feet into the mattress as she grunted and sobbed. “It’s been long enough,” she gasped, her fingers twisting into the blankets; Nadifa winced when she heard the fine cotton rip. “Get this child out of me!”

“Two more pushes, and it will be done, two more!”

Hura’s groan of pain turned more into a shout, and the other two attendants in the room rushed to support her arms as Nadifa took hold of the babe as carefully as possible and eased her the last few inches from her mother’s body. It happened in a rush, a slither of blood and a surge of adrenaline that crashed back instantly into relief as the tiny little person in her arms moved for the first time.

It wasn’t her first birthing- she’d trained as a midwife since the age of fifteen, after all, and she was well versed in what to expect. 

But she did not expect to fall in love. 

The little girl was _perfect_ , tiny and red and wrinkled and ugly- no baby was beautiful in the moments after birth- her arms and legs moving weakly as her body became accustomed to life beyond the womb. A rattling breath went through her as she took her first gasp of air, a precursor to the wailing that would begin any moment now. 

And the gift within her was strong, _immensely_ so- Nadifa could feel it like a second heart beat, a subtle pull and push as the magic within the tiny girl in her arms settled and calmed in the aftermath of the trauma of the birth. Her mouth was open, eyes scrunched up tight, and her dark hair was plastered to her head with the blood and gore of her mother. 

For a moment, the room around them sank away and it was just the two of them- there were no bloodied sheets and harried handmaids, no stink of sweat and shit and blood, no gasping hysterical Lady to consider. It was just the two of them, Nadifa and this tiny unnamed girl, alive despite the odds stacked against her, beautiful and perfect.

It was a humbling moment, and in the silence between them her soul whispered _mine_.

Nadifa’s hands were shaking as she wiped away the worst of the muck on her tiny face, and at the unfamiliar touch of the towel- regardless of how gentle Nadifa was- the girl’s nose scrunched up and a grumpy wail began to unfurl from within her.

For something so tiny, she could make a lot of noise. 

“Spirits preserve me, take it away,” Lady Trevelyan rasped, flat against the pillows now that the work was done. 

Nadifa fumbled to quickly cut and tie the cord that remained between mother and child. “Do you not-”

“Is it a mage?”

She spat it like it was the most reprehensible slur imaginable, like there was nothing more loathsome on the Maker’s green earth. Nadifa flinched, feeling a surge of protectiveness not towards herself and her own magical talent, but to the girl in her arms. “ _She_ is,” she said clearly, defying Hura in the only way that she could.

Hura closed her eyes, a brief flicker of grief flitting across her features before she hardened herself. “I leave it in your care,” she said. “Do with it what you will.”

Her heart stopped. “My Lady, I-”

“ _Take it away before I rescind my word and have it drowned!_ ” she said, her eyes snapping open as she lunged upwards onto her elbows. Her nightgown was still hitched up around her waist, and she had only just now passed the afterbirth- she was emotional, exhausted, hysterical, as any woman had a right to be in such a situation.

That did not mean that, in that moment, Nadifa did not despise her. 

Cradling the babe as carefully to her chest as she dared, Nadifa crawled backwards off the bed and stumbled towards the door to the servant’s exit. If she hurried, she could be down the back stairwell and out the laundry door before anyone even saw her.

“And you girls,” Lady Trevelyan was saying behind her, “you’re not to breathe a word, you hear? The babe did not survive the birth, do you understand?”

The two elf servants in the room mumbled their agreement, and then Nadifa heard no more of what followed, rushing downstairs as she did her best to soothe the wailing child in her arms. She felt like a thief, sprinting from the scene of the crime with her spoils on display for anyone to see. 

But she was saving an innocent life- how could the Maker judge her for that, even if the child was a mage?

She found the laundry blessedly empty and turned to shoulder open the door to the grounds; she grunted as the weight of the door hit her a little hard, but continued onwards. The life of the girl was in her hands, and Nadifa dared not wait around to see if the Lady changed her mind, or if the Lord disagreed with his wife’s decision. 

The immaculate green lawns opened up before her- her husband Benan’s handiwork, she thought proudly- and she broke into a proper sprint, terrified she would stumble and drop her precious charge, but more terrified that at any moment there would be a chorus of angry shouts behind her, the house guard sent to drag her back with the girl. 

But there was nothing, nothing at all. Just the thunder of her own heartbeat and the high-pitched wails of the babe in her arms. 

On the far side of the lawns there was a magnificent shimmering structure- a greenhouse- and beside it, tucked just inside the treeline, was a ramshackle little building that she and Benan called home. She set her sights on it and ran, ignoring the possibility that they might be stopped.

And then she was home, flying through the door, scuffing up the hard packed dirt floor as she skidded to a halt. She was panting for breath, adrenaline surging in her veins, and it seemed impossible to acknowledge that only an hour or two ago she’d been peacefully enjoying her breakfast, without even the faintest idea that her life was about to change irrevocably.

 _She had a child._

The baby was still crying, and now that her panic was easing she felt like a wretch. The girl should have been washed and soothed, left to lie on her mother’s breast and recover, not jostled and dragged out into the sharp chill of the morning air before she’d even opened her eyes. 

With trembling hands, she set the girl down on the bed, looking around in a daze. Water, she’d need water. The babe would need to be washed properly, and wrapped tightly afterward for sleep. 

This was so much easier when it wasn’t her own child- she felt as if her wits had flown out the window entirely.

***

Benan ran.

He didn’t know what to make of the whispers he’d heard amongst the servants, or the strange looks they’d thrown him. He didn’t know how to process the news that the Lady Trevelyan had lost the babe, knowing that the event would have devastated his beautiful Nadifa.

And he didn’t know how to reconcile the fact that Lord Trevelyan had declared the babe dead, and yet the whispers implied something else. 

_What had Nadifa done?_

So he ran home, towards the tiny shack they shared, a quiet and loving existence. There was a light on in the window, but it did not calm his racing heart. He did not slow, charging through the door as if all the demons of the Fade were nipping at his heels.

And then lurched to a halt, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

Nadifa sat by the fire in one of their only chairs, an air of serene calm around her as she gazed down at the bundle in her arms. 

She looked up at the sound of his entrance, and smiled beatifically. “Hello, my love,” she said softly. “I have someone for you to meet.” 

He fought to catch his breath, his heart still pounding in his ears as he carefully inched forward. Nadifa smiled at his hesitance. “She will not bite, I assure you. Not yet.”

Benan warily crossed the room and knelt before her, eyes wide as she lowered the blanket for him to see what she clasped so gently in her arms. There, amongst the cloth, was a tiny newborn , eyes closed and fast asleep. 

He felt his heart stop. “Nadifa,” he whispered, looking back up to her, “what have you done?”

“The only thing I could have done,” she said, sadness darkening her eyes. “I could not let them kill her.”

“You didn’t-”

“I didn’t steal her, if that is what you would ask.” Nadifa looked offended at the suggestion. “She is a mage, and the Lady bid me take her away. I do not know whether she intended for me to keep her, or for me to see her quietly abandoned with the Chantry, but I- I could not.”

Benan put his hand over hers. “Nadifa,” he began quietly.

“They would have killed her, Benan,” she said, her gaze stricken. “She was nothing to them, not even human. I could not...”

He waited for her, and she took several moments to compose herself. “I could not let them harm her,” she said, looking back down at her. “She is perfect.”

Benan looked from his wife to the baby. “You have made your decision,” he said, less of a question and more of a statement of fact.

She nodded, biting her lip. 

He let out a shaky breath. “She will not pass as our daughter,” he said softly, brushing his fingers against the babe’s cheek. Her hair had curled in the hours since her birth, dark whorls against her soft skin. She was brown, like her parents, but next to his own dark skin she almost looked pale in comparison.

Nadifa sighed, humming out a gentle sound that had the babe stirring at her breast. “She does not need to,” she said, a look of euphoric contentment on her face. “She is our daughter, regardless of that.”

Benan nodded. “Alright . I’d best make this place fit for a child.” He hesitated. “Does she have a name?”

Nadifa smiled softly, touching the girl’s face. “Corinne,” she said. “It feels right.”

And just like that, they were parents. They waited anxiously each day for the Lord or the Lady to send soldiers down to the edge of the wood to surround their tiny shack, certain that at any moment they would decide the risk was too great... but it never eventuated. 

They had a daughter. 

Corinne.


	2. 9.17 Dragon

Corinne’s earliest memory was of being alone in the forest.

She had not been frightened, and she could not remember why; she had no memory of how she’d made it there by herself, or where her parents were, because she could scarcely have been able to walk with any great skill. For all she knew, years later and pondering the memory in detail, she could have just been at the back of the small shack her family called home. Yet through the eyes of a toddler, it was an enchanted meadow, the sunlight golden in the late afternoon hour as it filtered down through the canopy above. The sort of place where fairies and spirits might frolic in endless dance, where leaves were made of spun sugar and painted with gold.

There was magic in the air, wild and delicious, and she’d plopped down in the middle of her own enchanted grove and had promptly uprooted a leafy-looking weed and stuffed it into her mouth. 

In hindsight in later years, the memory still made her laugh and wince in equal amounts- even as a babe, she’d felt that undeniable lure towards the earth, and in her innocence and childishness, her response to such irresistible urges was to eat it. 

Her adoptive mother had no end to such stories, finding her daughter with her hands in the dirt and her mouth smeared with mud, roots and leaves hanging from her mouth like a startled deer, and she delighted in telling them at every opportunity. 

It was only fair that she got her fun out of it, given how often Corinne’s own antics had constantly threatened to shorten her life. For a woman who had come into motherhood rather abruptly, she took to it incredibly well- even on those heart-stopping occasions when she found her daughter perched on the highest branches of the tallest trees. 

She took it all in her stride when her daughter’s magic had rapidly eclipsed her own humble talents, guiding her and teaching her and loving her as fiercely as if she had been the daughter of her flesh, not simply the daughter that the Maker had handed to her. 

Sometimes, however, keeping an eye on a young girl with a nose for mischief and a magical gift far beyond her own capabilities was far harder than she could have ever anticipated. 

Today was just one such day. 

Lady Trevelyan had called on her to act as a handmaid for the salon she was hosting, and Nadifa knew what that meant- she would be expected to read the tea leaves of the Lady’s privileged guests, and offer up promises of grand love and fortune in their future. It was a bland and irritating way to spend the afternoon, forced to bite her tongue and keep her readings vague and yet optimistic, regardless of what fates she happened to spy. 

But, Lady Hura always gave her a few extra gold coins after such a performance, and she could feign interest in the fickle lives of the Lady’s noble friends if it meant she had the means to buy Corinne new winter clothes. She was a veritable disaster on legs ever since she had learned to walk, and not a day went by that she wasn’t spending her evenings seated by the fire with her sewing needle trying to repair the assorted rips and tears her daughter’s clothes had accumulated during the day. 

So she had dressed in her finest clothes and added a few daring little flourishes- pinning her locs back with hair clips that featured deep red stones, polished until they gleamed like embers. They had been a wedding present from Benan and were one of Nadifa’s most cherished and finest possessions. She slid a collection of rings onto her fingers- heirlooms and gifts and strange little treasures she had found amongst the cheap knickknacks at the market. Not all of them were imbued with power as an Andrastian understood the term, but they were all magic in their own way.

Were she practising back home, she would’ve been more comfortable in dressing in more ritualistic apparel- she took great pride in the traditions of her arts, and there was power to be had in the ceremony of selecting each item of clothing and each adornment, of feeling the weight of the magic settle around her like a favourite cloak. 

But she was far from home, and the eyes of the Chantry were everywhere, so she needed discretion rather than ceremony. 

Not that it mattered overly, of course- to read tea leaves at an afternoon salon for vapid noble mother and daughters only interested in gossip and The Game and making profitable marriage matches, she could as easily gone dressed in her apron and her house clothes. A few ceremonial trinkets helped her look the part, at least, and she couldn’t entirely deny the comfort of old rituals . 

She smiled placidly and reminded herself of the monetary reward on offer as she endured the tedious conversations of the afternoon. Another hour, maybe a little longer, and Hura would dismiss her.

Nadifa very discreetly rolled her shoulders, feeling an ache settling at the base of her neck; she wished she could lounge back against the velvet cushions of the settee, but she knew Hura had certain expectations about the persona she was expected to project. She had to remain poised and inscrutable, or she would incur the Lady’s wrath. 

Most of the time she tolerated such nonsense, and occasionally encouraged it- better for her if her mistress thought twice about her capabilities before chastising her for any perceived fault. She’d happily take the extra gold that came with assuring Hura that she could definitely predict the best days to host outdoor galas over a year in advance. 

If it was in her best interest to profit off the stupidity of an unpleasant person, she was not going to lose sleep over it. 

She fought back a yawn and smiled thinly as the women in the room burst into cackling laughter- she had missed whatever it was that had brought them such amusement, and after this many hours of inanity she did not care. 

A movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention; she turned her head ever so slightly- and froze. 

For there, perched on the windowsill and with her muddy little hand pressed to the glass, was Corinne.

***

It hadn’t been hard to give papa the slip. Sometimes when he was working with his bench- she had no idea what was up on the bench, being far too short, but she imagined it must have been marvellous indeed to distract him so often- he went off into his own world, and she could potter about to her heart’s content. 

Most of the time she paid attention when mama or papa asked her to keep close by, but she was far too busy today. She had seen mama in her wonderful dress- mama had even let Corinne help her, sitting on the bed and holding all of her beautiful rings while she fixed her hair- and she was most definitely the most beautiful person she had ever seen.

Her mother was such a glamorous woman, far more beautiful than the statues of Andraste that she had seen in the gardens when she had dared to creep closer to the manor. She was so tall, as if she could just reach up and pluck the moon from the sky with her fingertips, and when a wisp light bloomed into life in her palm, she could well imagine that was precisely what she had done. 

Andraste was so beautiful that the Maker had fallen in love with her, and she was positively bland compared to mama. 

She desperately wanted to see her working her magic, because papa said that was what mama had gone to do, and so the only logical thing to do was to go and find her. She was sure no one would mind, because wouldn’t they all be busy paying attention to the magic instead of her anyway?

Biding her time until papa had been sufficiently distracted, she had managed to get the door to the greenhouse open and had set off towards the manor as fast as her little legs could carry her. She wasn’t supposed to go near the manor, but there were some wonderful hidey holes in between the stone and the shrubbery- and there was a mother cat with kittens living just behind the kitchens at the moment,she had to visit them every day, didn’t she?

She’d worked out that if she came up from the southern end of the grounds she was hidden from sight by the curve of the hill and the position of the outer gate, and was less likely to be caught and shooed off angrily by the housekeeper. Trial and error, that. 

There was no one about as she ran up towards the house, and she dropped onto her hands and knees to crawl under the hedge the moment she was close enough. There was a tiny little space between the hedge and the wall, just big enough for her, and she could circle the house quite easily with minimal need to dash through the open. 

Hopefully mama was only in a ground floor room- it would be a lot trickier to peek in all the upstairs windows. Not impossible, but the grown-ups tended to get very upset when she asked the leaves and vines for help.

They could be silly like that sometimes. 

She got to the first window and grabbed the sill to pull herself up; a cursory peek showed the room beyond to be empty, so she dropped back onto the leaf-strewn ground and kept going, step by crunchy step. The next five windows didn’t offer much better trophies, and she began to wonder whether she would have to climb to the second floor after all. 

But then, _success_.

She could hear the noise in the room before she’d even clambered up on the sill, and as she peered over the edge of the frame she felt her heart soar to see the women assembled within. Not that she cared overly about the rest of them- some of their dresses were quite pretty, she supposed, and her stomach growled at the sight of the tower of sweets in the centre table, still mostly untouched- because she only had eyes for mama.

She looked like a queen, she was so beautiful; she was seated on the far side of the room, half turned away from the window. She didn’t _look_ like she was doing magic, and Corinne pouted at the thought that she might have missed it. 

The sill was not so high- it was taller than her head, but she could still reach up to it, and with a little effort and kicking against the stone she was able to scramble up onto the ledge. Mightily pleased with herself, she put her hands onto the glass, pressing her nose up to get a closer look. 

There was mama, looking regal like an empress- and her other mother was there too, the one that she looked like. She felt a swell of pride when she noticed how much prettier mama was than her.

Mama glanced in her direction then, and Corinne perked up, waving happily to her; she saw her eyes widen, and she went still before carefully turning back to the assembled party. Corinne pouted at the slight- maybe mama was going to be angry with her after all. 

She had definitely seen her- maybe she should bang on the window, to get her attention properly?

As if sensing her thoughts, mama glanced over at her sharply and shook her head once, eyes stern as she made a gesture with her hand. Corinne’s smile faltered, because it looked like mama was telling her to-

Mama repeated the gesture, and Corinne wilted. She was right, mama was angry at her and was telling her to get off the window. 

Crestfallen, she clambered backwards off the edge, slowly easing herself down to the ground. She held onto the sill for a few long moments, peering into the room in the hope that mama would forgive her and let her watch. But instead she saw mama rise to her feet graciously and bend to murmur something in her other mother’s ear; she saw her frown and wave her hand irritably, but she did not try to stop mama when she headed for the door. 

Corinne plopped down onto the ground behind the hedge and waited.

It only took a few minutes before she heard the crunch of footsteps on the crushed limestone pathway, and she winced, waiting for the scolding. 

“Corinne,” her mama called softly, urgently. “Where are you hiding, silly girl? Come out.”

Abruptly tearful, Corinne got onto her hands and knees and crawled out under the hedge, sniffling when she spotted mama’s fine shoes from through the leaves. When she got out onto the pathway she was already crying, and she sat back on her legs and tried to wipe the tears off her face with tiny clenched fists.

Mama stood over her, hands on her hips and an exasperated look on her face. “Where is your papa?” she asked wearily, “and does he know what you’re up to?”

Corinne shook her head, hiccuping on the tears. “He- he doesn’t kn-know,” she said, gasping and sniffling. “I-I just wanted to see you.”

She heard her sigh, and then mama was crouching before her and reaching gently under her chin to turn her face up towards her own, wiping her thumbs over her cheeks to clear away the tears. “You are a silly little thing,” she said, her expression softening. She hooked her hands under her arms and lifted her skywards, standing and settling her on her hip in one graceful motion. “Come on, let’s get you home before someone sees you.”

Corinne clung to her and buried her head against her shoulder. She smelled of orange blossom perfume and the faint hint of coconut oil in her hair. 

“My little one, you must not play like that within sight of the manor,” Nadifa said, hugging her close to her breast as she hurried down the well-groomed pathway towards the shack they called home. “Especially not when the Lady has guests. You do understand that, yes?”

“I would’ve been good,” she mumbled, pressing her face against her skin. She was warm, and she smelled safe. “I would’ve been nice to them.”

“But they would not have been nice to _you_ , my love. And I could not bear that.”

Corinne was silent for the rest of the walk home, lulled towards sleep by the gentle motion of her mother’s gait. Finally she murmured “Why would they not be nice to me, mama?”

Nadifa did not answer immediately, but she tensed; Corinne felt it, and felt the way her arms tightened around her slightly.

“You do not owe your time or your heart to anyone, my love,” Nadifa said softly, holding her close. “You have a beautiful heart- do not give it to anyone who is not worthy of it.”

It wasn’t a very good answer- maybe mama just hadn’t understood the question properly- but she didn’t say anything. Instead she relaxed, soothed by the faint beating of her mama’s heart beneath her, and fell asleep.


	3. 9.20 Dragon

Benan took Corinne’s hand in his, guiding her over to a low retaining wall in the loftily named Dusk Garden. “Sit here, little one,” he said, lifting her up onto the stone. “You’ll be able to see better up here.”

The Dusk Garden was one of his proudest achievements, a labour of love that he had been painstakingly crafting for the past half-dozen years or so. He had been tasked by Lord Trevelyan with constructing an exciting new outdoor setting, suitable for hosting only the very finest of gatherings. Aware that this would mean the garden was much more likely to be used for evening affairs and would see very little use during the daylight hours, he knew better than to waste the Lord’s funding on plants and flowers that only bloomed while the sun was out. 

To that end, he had purchased and nurtured only the very finest of night-blooming flowers, and with a little help from Nadifa’s knowledge of the movements of the moons, had carefully positioned the garden beds so that regardless of what day of the year it was, the light from at least one of the moons would pass through frosted glass panes placed around the perimeter . They worked like pale silver spotlights, drawing the eye to featured plants throughout the evening as the moons rose and then set again. 

The design had taken him the better part of a year, and then another year again to adequately position the garden beds and decorative trellis walls. The glass was specially crafted by the Tranquil from the Circle of Magi in Cumberland, and had cost more than his annual salary. 

And the plants- ah, the plants! He had scoured the length and breadth of Thedas to find the most exquisite of night flowers, sometimes travelling for weeks at a time to procure a rare sample. He was remarkably grateful that the Trevelyans saw a greenhouse as a worthy diversion, because he doubted he would have had as much success had he not had the option to cultivate the smaller seedlings in a controlled environment. 

Valarian blood lilies, moon daisies, night gladiolus- it was a subdued setting in the daylight hours, but as the colours of dusk grew along the horizon the plants responded in kind, a riot of sweet scents and exquisite hues illuminated by the silver light of the mage glass. 

Really, the only thing in his life that he was more proud of than the Dusk Garden was his family. 

Corinne didn’t hold still- the moment he set her down on the wall she got onto her knees and shuffled towards the plants, eyes wide with delight. He sat down on the wall beside her, smiling. “It’s like the little one in the glasshouse,” she said, already reaching forward to stroke the leaves on the dark red lily that was the feature in this particular garden bed.

“It _is_ , my love, it is like that one. Very well done.” He would have adored her fiercely to his dying day even if she had not shared this particular love with him. As it was, he was overjoyed that she wanted to learn his craft- only seven and yet she followed him around so faithfully, watching solemnly as he worked in the gardens, leaping to assist whenever he asked it of her. “Do you remember what the name was?”

“Embrum.”

He smiled and ruffled her hair. “Very close- it’s embrium. An embrium lily.”

“Em- _breeee_ -um,” she intoned, committing it to memory. 

“Good girl. And can you tell what’s wrong with it?”

She scrunched up her nose. “It’s drooooooopy,” she said in a singsong voice.

She wasn’t incorrect per se, although her assessment of the problem was rather innocent. He didn’t want to push her into trying to comprehend more than she was able to, because she was already doing remarkable things given her age. “It _is_ droopy,” he agreed, smiling at her. “What are we going to do about it?”

She shrugged comically, putting her hands up into the air to indicate her lack of responses.

“Well, it needs some water, and it needs some food,” he said; he eyed some of the browning edges to the waxy green leaves. “And it might need a haircut. So really, it’s just like you- if you go out to play without having your breakfast first, you don’t feel good at all, do you?”

Corinne shook her head solemnly. “I get a headache,” she said factually. “Do flowers get headaches?”

“If they could, I’m sure this one would right now.”

She frowned. “Poor flower,” she said, crawling forward so that she could reach the plant without stretching. “I’ll kiss it better.”

Benan smiled sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like-”

Corinne pursed her lips and pressed her mouth to the red petals, making a loud smooching noise as she did so. The moment she did so, the embrium quite literally bloomed right before his eyes. The petals grew firm and curved again instead of wilted and fragile, the colour ripening all the way through. The change flowed all the way through the plant- the waxy leaves shook, visibly shaking off the deadened brown tissue, the dry flakes falling into the soil. The stem straightened, and the air was suddenly richer with the sweet fragrance of the lily. 

Corinne sat back on her knees, beaming delightedly. Benan could only stare, reaching forward with shaking hands to stroke the newly revitalised petals, unable to believe what he was seeing. 

When he didn’t speak, Corinne’s smile faltered, worry flooding into her dark brown eyes. “Did I do wrong, papa?” she asked, her lip trembling.

He breathed out slowly. “My darling girl,” he began, but she interrupted him.

“I was just trying to help! I just wanted to kiss it better- when my tummy hurts, or my head, you and mama always kiss it better for me, so I thought I’d just-”

“Shh, shh, my dear girl.” He reached up and took her hands in his, smoothing his thumbs over the back of her tiny fingers. “You could never do wrong. What you did just now was amazing.”

There were tears in her eyes, and she hiccuped once, glancing from him to the flower. “Promise?” she asked. 

“I promise. That was magnificent, my darling. You are so talented and-”

“ _You were told to keep that whelp away from the house!_ ” 

Corinne saw her father flinch, and a moment later he was shushing her hurriedly, patting her hair down almost frantically as he climbed to his feet and turned to face the speaker. Corinne peered around his legs, curious.

A large man was stalking across the polished marble towards them, his face flushed with anger. She knew him- he was Lord Trevelyan, and to the best of her knowledge, her sire. She had never been this close to him in all her seven years, and she thought she might feel a pang of recognition when she finally had the chance to see him in person. 

She felt nothing. 

“Apologies, messere,” her father began quickly, almost abasing himself before him. “The girl’s mother has taken leave, as well you know, to visit her own mother in the north, and I couldn’t just leave her-”

“Tie her up like a dog for all I care!” 

Corinne continued to stare up past her father’s legs, up into the face of this angry man. His skin was brown like hers and not black like her parents, and she thought she might have his nose. But he was a very ugly man, so full of rage and hate, and she decided she was rather grateful that he had not turned out to be her father. 

“Messere, she is just a _child_ ,” Benan pleaded, wringing his hands together before him. “She has done no harm.”

“You were told you could keep her under very precise instructions, and one of those instructions was that she was not to come near to the family or the manor under any circumstances- and here we find you! Not a dozen yards from the windows of the Lake Room where my wife likes to take tea in the afternoon.”

“Messere-”

“Are you trying to insult our family? My poor wife nearly swooned when she saw you, she is laid up now with a headache-”

“He _said_ he was sorry,” Corinne said pointedly, staring up at him. 

Lord Trevelyan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and his face grew so red that she wondered whether he was choking. She fought the urge to giggle. 

“When someone says sorry, you say ‘ _I forgive you_ ’ and it’s all fixed,” she said, because he clearly didn’t seem to grasp the concept. 

She squeaked in surprise when she felt her father’s hands under her arms, hoisting her up onto his hip. “My Lord, I apologise, you will not see her again,” Benan said urgently, backing away rapidly. Corinne wrapped her arms around his neck for balance, glancing back over his shoulder towards where her sire stood.

“Is he going to explode, papa?” she asked.

Benan choked on a laugh, his eyes frantic as he pressed his lips together. “Not now, my love, keep your head down and be quiet for now.”

She tucked her head down onto his shoulder and sighed, swinging her legs in time to his gait. “He was mean, papa,” she said. “You shouldn’t be nice to him.”

She felt his hand on the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. “He might make things very miserable for us if I am not, my darling,” he said tiredly. “And I could not bear for anything to happen to you because of it.”

She made a raspberry noise. “He’s rude,” she said, somewhat sulkily. 

Benan sighed. “He is,” he agreed quietly. “But that does not mean that we should be rude in turn. We must be better than him.”

Corinne didn’t answer, simply buried her head into the rough weave her of father’s shirt. 

“Tell you what- would you like to help me in the greenhouse today? I’m sure the flowers would be very happy to see you.” 

She swung her legs, and then nodded, smiling as she kept her face hidden in his shirt.

She felt the chuckle rumble through his chest. “There’s my girl.”


	4. 9.24 Dragon

The forest was her playground, and she knew the way it breathed around her like it was the life in her own lungs. The pulse of the forest thrummed in her veins, wild and slow and ancient. 

It had been that way for as long as she could remember- but today was the first day that she could remember her birth family coming to look for her. 

She crouched on the branch high above the ground, as still as a stone as she watched the procession beneath her curiously. She did not recognise the two boys, but she knew both of the girls- they were her sisters, their brown hair pinned and styled in a fashion that was immensely impractical for trekking about in the woods. Likewise, their clothing was far too delicate for the dirt and the branches and the weeds, lace blouses and soft leather pants and gaudy jewellery that seemed determined to snag on everything, and from what she could hear of their conversation, they weren’t enjoying themselves.

Why, then, were they here?

The Trevelyan family had continued on as if she had never been born, and that suited her fine most of the time. Apart from occasionally accompanying her father around the immense manicured lawns and gardens, she kept away from the manor, and but for the occasional summertime garden soiree the family or hunting party, the family did not make use of the grounds all that much. 

She had seen them at a distance from time to time, watching them in fascination; she did not care for the prospect of a noble life, but it intrigued her to wonder what would have been, had she stayed with them. Would she have still found walls and stone floors confining and suffocating, or would she have grown to passively accept them as her soul died by inches? Would they have let her run about barefoot, so that she could feel the grass and the soil between her toes? 

“I thought you said she’d be easy to find,” one of the two boys called; Corinne disliked him instantly. His voice was enough to raise her hackles, and she hadn’t even seen his face. 

“I said I knew where she was _probably_ going to be,” snapped the elder girl- older sister- as she stumbled over a hidden root in the grass. Her face was red and she was clenching her fists at her side as she stamped about, and her elegant silken blouse had been torn at some point, probably by an errant branch. And were those _velvet_ boots? What on earth had possessed her to think they would be appropriate footwear? 

She looked very much like their father- the way she lost her temper was very much like him. Like a pot left on the fire, building up heat and steam and spluttering and exploding if left untended for too long.

Corinne grinned at the thought, and crept along the branch as she followed their progress. She kept even with them, silent but for the occasional rustle of leaves as she traversed the pathways through the canopy. 

They were so _loud_ \- did they realise what a ruckus they were causing, stomping through the woods like a herd of disoriented cows? Were they deliberately making sure to step on every dry stick, and walk through every loose patch of gravel?

“How do you even know she’s real?” said the smaller boy. “I thought witches were just in stories.”

“Because I remember when mama was pregnant,” Older Sister said. “The baby was a witch, so they sent her away.”

Corinne sat up in surprise, legs dangling over the edge of her perch. They were looking for her?

“Witches are supposed to go to the Circle- or the templars kill them. Why didn’t she go to the Circle?”

“I don’t know, mama and papa won’t talk about it.”

She straightened and stepped off the branch, unconcerned about the twelve foot drop to the ground. The earth welcomed her, cushioning the impact so that she did not even bounce as she silently landed. They had not noticed her yet, so she fell in behind the last boy, mimicking his slouched gait. 

“This is stupid,” said the taller boy nearer to the front. “Let’s go back.”

“Yeah, this is stupid,” Corinne said, parroting his grumpy tone. She roared with laughter as the four older children shrieked and lunged away from her, clapping her hands delightedly as they clung to each other like panicked mice. “You’ll never sneak up on anyone if you stomp around without a care for how much noise you make.”

The smaller boy gaped at her as if she’d abruptly grown horns. “You didn’t say it could _talk!_ ” he said in hushed tones. 

“It can talk and it can also hear you from half the forest away.” She looked at the two girls and smiled broadly. “Hello, sisters.”

The two girls shrunk backwards violently, as if she’d threatened them. They looked so very familiar, like she’d glimpsed them repeatedly in her dreams instead of spying them occasionally from a distance. They had rounder faces than she did, like their father, and they were quite plump- an indication of the indulgent lifestyle they’d led in comparison to her wild childhood. 

But they were quite pretty, she thought, if a little foolish. It was silly of them to have come into the forest in the first place, since they clearly had no idea where they were going or what they were doing. Spirits preserve, she’d probably have to show them how to find their way home again- she couldn’t imagine they’d made any effort to keep track of which direction they were going, or which trails they’d followed. 

“Don’t come any closer, _witch_ ,” said the older boy, shuffling awkwardly until he stood in front of the girls. “In the name of Andraste, I command you to leave.” 

He was quite large, at the age where his bones had begun to push out faster than his body could keep up; his shoulders were ridiculously broad, but he had not the weight on him to make it look intimidating. Even if he was a good head taller than her, she had to fight not to laugh at him. 

He reminded her of a baby deer, thin newly-born limbs going in every direction as it stumbled about trying to master the art of standing up. 

Amused, she put her hands into her pockets. “I have a secret to tell you,” she said in an exaggerated whisper. “Andraste cannot stop a witch.”

Their eyes grew comically large, utter dismay on their faces, and she burst out laughing again. “I’m joking, don’t panic,” she said, meandering closer. “But I don’t think Andraste cares about me and other mages, one way or the other.”

“That’s not what the Chantry said,” her middle sister squeaked. It was the first time she had spoken, and Corinne looked at her in renewed interest. She was slightly taller than Older Sister, but her face still looked quite young. If she had to guess, Corinne would have assumed she was only two years older than herself, maybe less. She wondered if they would have been friends, had circumstances been different. “The Chantry says that Andraste-”

“The Chantry says _blah bleh bluh_ ,” Corinne said, pulling a stupid face. None of them laughed. “You didn’t come to talk about the Chantry, did you?”

They didn’t answer, staring at her warily.

She tried a different tact. “What are your names?” 

“Don’t tell her,” the smallest boy said quickly. “If you tell a witch your name, they have power over you. Sister Juna said so.”

“That’s stupid. What’s a name going to do?”

They didn’t answer.

She sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “ _My_ name is Corinne. Does that help?”

Their silence was beginning to annoy her.

Corinne threw her hands up in the air in frustration, and they immediately shrieked and scuttled backwards. She stared at them curiously, hands still held above her head. “What?” she asked, genuinely perplexed by their reactions.

Older Sister swallowed nervously and whispered “Are you doing magic?”

Corinne looked at her incredulously. “Because I lifted my arms? Are you stupid?”

Older Sister’s face went red again. “Don’t call me stupid!” she snapped.

“Well, haven’t you ever seen magic before?” At the look on their faces, her mood faltered. “You _haven’t_ seen magic before?”

“Magic is forbidden,” Middle Sister said, somewhat breathlessly. “It is used only for evil, and by demons.”

Corinne made a rude noise. “I’ve never even seen a demon,” she said loftily, waving her hand to dismiss the concern. “And that’s stupid, magic isn’t used for evil. If magic was evil, would it be able to do this?”

She crouched down and cleared a small patch of soil, peeking up at the other children to make sure they were watching. Grinning, she held her hand over the open patch of earth and made a beckoning gesture, and a moment later a small green shoot burst out of the ground. The others gasped, but Corinne ignored them; she beamed down at the tiny sapling, bending down closer to hum an encouraging little ditty to it.

The little leaves blossomed and grew, shuddering and shaking at their accelerated growth as it pushed itself up and out of the earth. As it grew taller, Corinne stood to follow it, still holding her hand above it to encourage it to reach ever higher, ever upwards. 

There was such a vibrancy in it, a deep and rich song that resonated in her blood- there was such joy in this, _in life_ , and she laughed in delight, lost in the beauty of the moment.

She didn’t notice Older Boy creeping up around her, inching up behind her shoulder, until it was too late. He shoved her violently, knocking her to the ground; Corinne landed on top of the sapling with a horrifying crack, momentarily winded and panic like she had never known flooding through her, as he stood over her, fists clenched. 

“Magic is forbidden!” he shouted, his voice higher pitched than it had been a minute ago. “The Maker does not suffer a witch to live.”

She could feel the broken sapling beneath her body, the fragile trunk snapped and splintered. The life that she had felt singing in her blood only a moment ago was draining away, fainter and fainter. 

Corinne felt the world crystallize around her, frozen for a perfect moment of anger and fear and hate- whether it was hers, or the boys, she could not tell. She felt the way the forest turned its attention inward, responding to her pain and her panic, and then she felt-

_-everything._

Rage and terror and panic and seething hate and-

_-and she rose to her feet as a wind buffeted the trees, knocking the other children to their knees and-_

-grief and madness and horror and guilt and-

_-and she rose up higher, the ground rising up with her, as the other children screamed and screamed, debris from the trees raining down on them and-_

-fury and sadness and pride and hunger and-

_-and the earth thundered as it heaved and buckled, and the trees strained at their roots, the wind whipping through the grove fast enough for the debris to turn to shrapnel, cutting at any exposed skin, and-_

And she sucked in a breath and let go, slumping back down to her knees on the broken earth, the storm she had summoned ceasing in an instant. The broken bark and leaves and twigs fell down like rain for a few moments after the deadly barrage of wind had died off. She stared down at her hands, at the way they were curled into claws against her thighs, and she felt nothing but shame and hatred.

She looked up through her hair, and saw the four children lying on the ground and staring back. She knew the look in their eyes well- it was the frozen look of terror in the face of a smaller creature who knows that they have been spotted by a predator. There were cuts on their faces, tiny little slashes of colour, and mud and twigs in their hair.

Corinne took a shuddering breath. “Get out,” she hissed, shaking now that the adrenaline had left her. “Get out and never come back.”

She watched them go and did not give chase; instead she curled up beside the broken form of the sapling, which she had brought to life against the natural order of things, and had killed.

She lay in the grass and pressed her face to the leaves and wept.


	5. 9.28 Dragon

The forest was a different place entirely when she saw it through new eyes. 

There was nothing she loved more than to soar above the treetops on the wings of an eagle, rocketing upwards on a warm updraft and then gliding lazily back down again, or swooping around on silent wings as a barn owl, her gaze a thousand times clearer than she could imagine as a human, even in darkness. 

There were dark, warm places she had burrowed through, delicious flat rocks by the river that she had sunned herself on. She had learned the way to read the news left in scents and smells, and had found new uses for plants and herbs that had never occurred to her as a human. 

She had slumbered as a bear in meadows hidden far from human trails, and she had run through the endless flatlands along the river as a deer. 

And today, for something different, she was testing out the shape of a fox. 

She was quite enjoying herself, really- she appreciated the smaller size, much more practical than a wolf when it came to slipping in and out of bramble patches. She wasn’t completely sold so far, but she did have a _fearsome_ need to play chase with someone. 

She whiled away the hours exploring, testing the limits of her new form, before finally making her way back towards the fringe of the Trevelyan estate. The smells became more familiar the closer she drew to home, the forest around her near to saturated with the scent of her own human form and the less frequent hints of her mother and father. 

“Good afternoon, little kit,” Nadifa said, her tone amused as she reached a hand down to scratch her behind the ears. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen an errant young woman out in the woods, avoiding her chores?”

Corinne yipped happily at her and then ducked past her, trotting into the tiny alcove that housed her bed behind a curtain. She jumped up onto the bed and focussed on returning to her human form, drawing on the familiarity of fingers and toes and freckled brown skin. The sensation, when the change occurred, was not an unpleasant one, but it was remarkably weird- like a full body shudder rippling over her as she changed from the fox and back into the girl. 

Grinning to herself, she patted herself down to make sure that she’d not carried over any surprises- sometimes she went hours without realising she had the wrong eyes, or had kept a tail- and then dug under the unmade blankets for her clothing. 

“The fox is a new one,” Nadifa called from the main room. “Have you been practicing long for it?”

Corinne clambered off the bed and out into the open again, lacing up her breeches as she walked out to where her mother was waiting. “It took me a few weeks,” she said proudly, snatching up an apple from the table and plopping down into one of the few chairs in the shack. She took a bite of the fruit, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “There were a lot of similarities in the shift to wolf, and I’d get halfway through and realise I’d defaulted to that instead.”

“You don’t have that problem with your bird shapes,” Nadifa said, looking up from where she was carefully making notes in her field journal. “Experiencing problems, dear one?”

“It’s not a process I actively think about,” Corinne said, frowning as she tried to describe it. “Well, no, of course I think of it, I need to concentrate before the change, but once it’s begun...” She shrugged. “I sort of lose myself in the moment, I guess?”

“I’m _sure_ that doesn’t have the potential to go terribly wrong at _all_ ,” her mother said pointedly, giving her a look that only mothers have perfected. “Not concentrating properly while utilising magics that remake your entire being into something new- I can’t see _anything_ disastrous resulting from such flippancy.”

Corinne scowled, face heating from the scolding. “I know what I’m doing, mama,” she said sulkily, taking another bite of the apple.

“And I’m sure most mages who accidentally end up possessed by demons think remarkably similar thoughts immediately prior to their deaths,” Nadifa said. She reached over and put her hand over Corinne’s, her expression earnest. “You are young, and you are powerful, and you are certain of your own immortality. But my love, you must _always_ remember that you are not infallible- your gift is a double edged sword, and if you wield it badly, it won’t just be you that suffers the consequences.”

Corinne sighed dramatically and flopped backwards in the chair, staring up at the roof to escape from her mother’s gaze. “I _know_ all that,” she muttered, fighting the urge to squirm out of Nadifa’s reach and slither under the table to sulk. 

“Good- then in that case, I assume you’ve been doing all of your reading and are well and truly ready for our next lesson in medicinal herbs?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” she said, heaving herself upright again. At Nadifa’s gesture she sighed dramatically again- she _was_ fifteen, after all, everything was dramatic- and climbed to her feet, meandering over to her mother’s scarred workbench where the afternoon’s task sat waiting. 

In truth, she loved these moments with mama; she ran her fingers over the worn table, the surface smooth from so many years of constant use. There were splashes of dark colour from mysterious spilled liquids, stained forever into the wood, and the more recent scars from knives told a story of a thousand herbs and weeds dissected under her mother’s careful eye. 

The wall above the workbench held shelves and racks and hooks and buckets, all fit to overflow with the myriad of ingredients rare and common that Nadifa had collected over the years. She felt a smug swell of pride at the items that she’d hunted down for her, delighted to have found such coveted treasures for her mother. Prickly little weeds with black leaves, or pale yellow flowers with a vivid red stamen- not precisely the sort of gifts young girls sought for their mothers.

The bench had been cleared and tidied, no hints as to what Nadifa might have been working on that morning- the mortar and pestle had been wiped clean, no dusty residue to offer clues, and the tiny tripod she used to boil and temper the ingredients together still sat in the wash tub, scrubbed until the old copper shined dully. And on the bench itself sat a collection of vials and flasks, all unlabelled, all far too innocent in appearance. 

Corinne glanced back over her shoulder at her mouth, a question in her eyes. Nadifa smiled in response. “Guessing at an unnamed potion is far too easy for you,” she said, far too amused with herself. “I wouldn’t be that kind.”

"Then what are you?"

"A mother who occasionally takes delight in attempting to flummox her too-smart-for-her-own-good daughter." She gestured to the assembled potions. "Each of them is unlabelled, but you should be able to recognise them all on sight by now. The problem you will face today is that all of them are flawed in some way. I need you to not only identify the contents of each bottle, but also tell me what went wrong in the crafting process, and how it could be avoided in the future."

Corinne blinked, processing this information, and then grinned impishly. "You're diabolical," she said. "I love it."

"My thanks- it's something I've learned from a certain young woman in my life."

She drummed her fingers on the bench, looking up and down the line of waiting bottles. "So, just... start anywhere?"

"Anywhere you like."

Taking a deep breath to settle her excitement, Corinne surveyed the bottles carefully, reaching out tentatively with honed senses to catch a hint of any discord in the air. A bad scent, a taste on the air that settled unpleasantly on the tongue, even the familiar buzzing sensation of lyrium dust burning at her nostrils. But Nadifa had been careful to clean up well, and there was nothing to offer her any sort of indication at what her mother had been brewing. 

Selecting one at random, Corinne lifted up a tiny glass bottle, holding up the contents to the light of the afternoon sun. “Well that’s easy,” she said, swishing the liquid around for a better view. “It’s a lyrium supplement that’s been brewed with low grade lyrium- you can see it hasn’t properly diluted, and there’s still grainy sediment in the bottom.”

Her mother didn’t even blink. “Are you sure?”

She hesitated, glancing between her mother and the potion. “... yes?”

“Without the need to taste it or smell it or sample it to test the blend of ingredients has been successful?”

“... yes?”

Nadifa laughed. “Well done. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Using low grade lyrium is a problem in itself- the quality of the crystal is poor to begin with, usually exhibiting colour discoloration and faults in the seam. It’s fragile and usually crumbles during the mining process. More than that, the potency is greatly reduced when compared to more high-quality crystal samples.”

Nadifa spread her hands wide. “But tragedy has befallen us, and we have no access to a new supply. We’ll have to make do with what we have.”

Corinne frowned, rolling the bottle between her fingers as she concentrated. “In that case,” she said slowly, thoughts racing, “we would have to... reduce the original base of lyrium dust with oil of heatherum and... foxite, that’s it, foxite over a constant temperature for five hours to get a more refined sample of lyrium, which would then be mixed with a solution of wintersbulb to enhance the vitality of the lyrium sample while also reducing its toxicity.”

“And the fact that it still has sediment means...?”

“Oh! That the dwarf you bought it from was a cheap ass-”

“Language, dear.”

“-who charged you by weight and didn’t bother to pick out bits of stone and gravel from the mining process. You can fix that by breaking his legs-” At her mother’s look she grinned. “Oh fine, no leg breaking. You can fix it by passing the lyrium through a very fine sieve- without water- several times, and grinding the filtered dust in the mortar and pestle to be absolutely sure.” 

Nafida was silent for a few long moments, and then she smiled. “Very well done, my love. I’m very impressed.”

Corinne grinned in return, a wave of relief washing over her. “I do my best.”

“Mm. You do your best when it suits you. The next one?”

Turning back to the table, she glanced along the line until on in particular caught her eye. She held the vial up to her nose, sniffing. “Well, I can tell it’s supposed to be a restorative tonic of some kind,” she said. “That’s definitely elfroot, but the spindleweed... hmmm.”

Nadifa didn’t say anything, merely smiling as she gestured with her hand for her to continue. 

Corinne touched her tongue to the rim of the vial and winced. “Oh, _Maker preserve_ , that’s bitter.”

“Is it now,” Nadifa said, feigning surprise. “My my, I wonder what the problem could be.”

“The spindleweed was pickled,” Corinne said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve before setting the tonic down on the counter. “Normally, that’s not a problem- pickled or dried spindleweed can be used in a pinch should fresh cuttings not be available.”

Nadifa was smiling. “Then what _is_ the problem?”

“Pickled spindleweed tends to lose some of its vitality in the pickling process, and the most common mistake made to counter this is to simply add more. Normally the elfroot is the dominant flavour in the tonic, but increasing the amount of spindleweed- and including trace amounts of vinegar- throws out the balance entirely. Really the pickled spindleweed should have been used in the same quantity as usual, but it should have been prepared earlier with a concentration agent to bring out the rejuvenating properties. Then add the new preparation to the elfroot.”

“Anything else to add?”

Corinne scrunched up her nose in distaste. “The original tonic will still _work_ , of course, but asking anyone to drink that is a punishment in and of itself.”

Her mother laughed heartily. “Good girl, you’ve been practising.” She waved her hand magnanimously at the bench. “Well, continue then. Let’s see if you can go three for three.”

“I bet I can do all of them with my eyes closed.”


	6. 9.32 Dragon

Her time had come. 

Every moment of her existence, every decision in her life, had been leading up to this moment. It was a critical, triumphant moment, one she would remember for the rest of her days.

_The greenhouse was hers._

Alright, perhaps that was an oversimplification of the situation, but that didn’t dampen her excitement at all. Benan had been called away to Antiva, to Rialto, to meet with a botanist recommended to him by a trading acquaintance. Lord Trevelyan had funded the journey, on the understanding that it would result in investment opportunities and future access to rare flora specimens. 

Benan’s careful work over the last twenty-five years had paid off, and the Trevelyan estate had become renowned throughout the region for the complexity and vibrancy of their gardens. And now that he was away for the next three or four weeks, it was all _hers_. 

Oh, she was under strict instructions of course, and she had no intention of making elaborate changes to the gardens- but just the knowledge that she could walk about unsupervised, tend to the gardens as she saw fit as they called to her, and could tinker about in the greenhouse without fear of disrupting her father’s work...

It was a heady feeling indeed. 

She knew the day was fast approaching when she would have to leave her parents’ home, and ideally she’d love to find work as a groundskeeper in her own right; being able to say that she had tended the grounds of the famed Trevelyan estate would open doors for her that might otherwise have remained closed. 

The sun had already set by the time she made her way home for the day, exhausted but jubilant as she danced through the door. There was a mouth-watering scent hanging in the air, redolent with spice so hot she could taste it on the back of her tongue when she breathed in. The source seemed to be a pot hanging over the banked fire, and Nadifa was seated at the small table with a basket of laundry at her feet- but her attention was on a set of worn but beautifully-illustrated cards arrayed before her on the table. 

Corinne knew better than to touch the cards, so she gave the table a wide berth as she came up behind her mother. “What do you see for me today?” she asked teasingly, stopping to kiss Nadifa on the brow as she passed.

“I can see that a bath is in your immediate future,” Nadifa called after her, and Corinne chuckled as she fished an old battered mug out of the cupboard and checked on the contents of the kettle as it sat on the back hook above the fire pit. “Look at you, with those filthy broken fingernails- even your father has better table manners.”

“It’s hardly my fault if you raised me with an indulgent eye,” Corinne said, pouring the last of the tea into the mug and setting the kettle into the stone basin in the corner. 

“Mmm.” At Nadifa’s noncommittal answer, Corinne glanced over her shoulder towards her. Her mother was frowning at the tabletop where her long-beloved cards sat in a complex pattern before her. That look was never good.

“Mother?” When she didn’t answer, Corinne stepped up beside her and put her hand on her shoulder. “Nadifa?”

Nadifa shook her head as if shaking off a fog, and smiled up at her briefly, but the gesture did not quite extend to her eyes. She was distracted, and something had clearly unsettled her. “It’s nothing, dear heart,” she said, putting her hand over Corinne’s for a moment before straightening and quickly collecting up the cards. “Nothing at all.”

“You know I can’t read the damn things,” Corinne said with a smile, “so it’s not like you need to hide them from me.”

“That does not mean that I want to leave a painful message lying about in plain sight,” Nadifa said, shuffling the cards back together and setting them back in the worn wooden box that Benan had carved for her so long ago. “If someone uprooted one of your saplings and snapped it in a dozen places and left it for you to find, you would not leave it in the middle of your bedroom, now, would you?”

Corinne frowned as she slid into the seat opposite. “It was really that bad?” 

Nadifa smiled briefly, shaking her head. “It is nothing to worry yourself about, my love,” she said. “I will need time to consider it in meditation. For now, you should wash up so that we can have supper with some modicum of decency.”

Corinne rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I swear, by the way you carry on, you’d think I couldn’t even wield a fork,” she said as she climbed back to her feet and meandered into the bedroom. On her parent’s dresser was a wide, deep bowl, and a pitcher of water sitting beside it. Nadifa said something under her breath from the main room, and Corinne smiled as she poured out the water. “What was that?”

“I said I have my doubts, some days.”

Corinne laughed and dunked her forearms into the water, scrubbing hard to get the worst of the dirt out from under her nails. She could hear Nadifa setting out plates and cutlery in preparation for dinner, and she was humming under her breath as well. Corinne joined in, singing along wordlessly as she ran a damp cloth over her face and neck, briefly pulling out her hair tie to quickly braid her hair again. 

It took her a few moments to realise that something had changed, and a few seconds more to realise that she was singing along- Nadifa’s humming had stopped. In fact, she couldn’t hear anything from the front room. 

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, a warning, and her skin crawled uneasily. Moving carefully, Corinne picked up a handtowel from next to the bowl and walked back to the doorframe, making a show of drying her hands and arms. 

If it came to it, the towel would hide her hands from view, and if she needed to use defensive magic, it would give her the element of surprise. 

What she saw made her glad that she’d thought to grab the towel- her mother stood frozen by the table, halfway through serving dinner with an expression of thinly veiled fury on her face. And on the other side of the table, just inside the door to the tiny house, was Lord Trevelyan.

Her sire. 

Corinne felt magic sizzle under her skin at the very sight of him, hot and thin like acid in her veins. She lifted her chin and did not falter when his gaze turned to her. 

Nadifa broke the silence. “Corinne, darling,” she said, her tone warning her towards caution, “you remember Lord Trevelyan. My Lord, this is-”

“I think I would know my own father by now,” Corinne snapped at the very same moment that Lord Trevelyan said “How could I not know my own daughter?”

They stared at each other, Corinne narrowing her eyes while he watched her carefully, a calculated look in his eyes. Nadifa again tried to defuse the situation. “My Lord, was there something we could help you with? You need not trouble yourself by visiting in person- surely it would be far easier to send a note with one of the scribes-”

“My wife may be susceptible to your carefully planted suggestions, my dear, but I’m afraid I’ve no interest in being influenced by you and your ilk,” he said, cutting her off. While Nadifa gaped at him, he pulled out a chair from the table and sat himself down; even then, his presence filled the entire house, and it was not pleasant. “Now, let’s not play dumb- we both know that I’m here because what I wanted to discuss could not be risked in a note, or within the walls of the main house.”

“Then state your business and be gone,” Corinne said sharply, ignoring her mother’s pointed glares. “Clearly you’ve come about me- has Benan even gone to Antiva on true business, or was it all a ruse to get him out of the way?”

Lord Trevelyan laughed, and the sound set off warning bells in her head. “You’re a very suspicious young woman,” he said, as if he was offering her praise. “Intelligent, but suspicious. Benan is indeed on business- I just happened to see this as an opportunity to have a long overdue conversation.”

Her father was not a small man- she had inherited her height from him, and even then he was still a good few inches taller than her. She had heard that he was chevalier-trained, and even though it was years since he had taken to the field, he had not lost any of that dauntless energy; there was an air of ruthless intimidation to him, cold and proud and intense. 

She did not even need to say it, but she did anyway. “You want me gone.”

He made a shrugging gesture. “If I’d had my way, you would have been a good many years ago. On the whole, that would have been a far tidier affair than the predicament we find ourselves in now.”

“And what would that be?”

“I see that Benan has left you to tend to the grounds in his stead, while he is absent.” He smiled thinly. “I cannot allow that.”

The world around her grew sharp, crystallizing and brightening. “I’m sorry?”

“You were allowed to live, and to stay here on the estate, on the understanding that you would never have contact with the family and never come near to the manor house. In attempting to take on Benan’s duties, you have violated both of those restrictions. I have made arrangements for someone else to fill in while your...” He paused, as if the word was distasteful to him. “While your _father_ is away.”

She was shaking, anger seething and lashing her from within. “And if I refuse?” she asked.

He stood slowly and came to stand before her, clearly using his height and his presence to intimidate her. “Then you will leave me no option but to inform the Chantry of your existence,” he said coldly. “I’m sure they’d be very interested to learn of the two witches who have enthralled my poor, darling wife, and who have taken advantage of my hospitality and kindness for far too long.”

He wasn’t even going for subtlety. He had such confidence in his ability to cow them into doing his bidding that he saw threatening them to be of no concern.

But he had not just threatened Corinne- he had threatened Nadifa as well.

The world around her turned inwards, frozen on a moment of anger and hate and fear; the cloth fell from her hand, her fingers curling into claws at her sides. 

“Go ahead, and send for the templars,” Corinne said with barely restrained fury, drawing herself up to her full height. She was not quite as tall as the Lord Trevelyan, but she did not cower back from the fury in his eyes. Instead she stepped closer still, into his personal space with a snarl on her face. 

Standing so close, with matching expressions of hate on their face, Corinne looked every bit like her father. The easy-going young woman with a heart of gold was nowhere to be found, and in her place was cold and dangerous witch, the force of her anger quite literally sparking in the air around her, crackling and hissing like water tossed over flames. 

“Send for the templars, and I swear to you that everyone from here to Par Vollen will know of the heathenism that hides within the walls of Trevelyan manor,” she continued, the earth crunching beneath her feet and lifting her up inch by creeping inch until her father had to look up to face her. “Cut out my tongue and I will write to the Divine herself about the idols hidden in cupboards and false wall panels. And I will kick and I will scream and I will fight, and everyone will know that the _great_ Trevelyan family chose to defy the will of the Maker and suffered a mage to live free.”

“You would not dare!” Lord Trevelyan snarled, his eyes bugging out, only now realising the danger he had placed himself in. 

“I would not even hesitate,” Corinne hissed in return, terrifying as her anger grew. The ground itself began to shake, and the small shack began to rattle about. “I would kneel at the feet of the Knight-Divine and offer up my forehead for the brand, if only I was given leave to watch your disgrace and ruin beforehand.”

Lord Trevelyan did his best to collect himself and face her undaunted, but it was impossible to be unaffected by the violent shaking of the earth and the power snapping and hissing in the air. He planted his feet wide apart to compensate for the lurching ground and stabbed a finger towards her chest. “How dare you-”

“ _How dare I?_ ” Corinne screeched, and outside the wind began to howl like a thousand demons unleashed in unity. “How dare I defend my home, and the only two people who have ever taken me into their heart? How dare I stand against an oversized bully who would threaten the only mother I have ever known?” 

There was a violent flash of light outside, accompanied by a roll of thunder so loud it was like the earth itself was splitting in two. 

“If you did not want me to live in defiance of you, _father_ , you should have _drowned me at birth!_ ”

Then there was a hand on her wrist, dragging her back from the abyss, and she turned with a snarl on her lips to see who would dare interrupt her. 

Nadifa- precious beloved mother and guardian, cherished above all others- stepped between her and her prey, putting herself directly in the line of fire. Placing herself between Corinne and the man who had just threatened both of their lives. “Go!” she shouted over her shoulder, keeping a fierce hold on Corinne. “Leave now, or I cannot guarantee she will let you leave with your life!”

The rage and the power screamed and warred inside of her, denied an outlet, and she could feel it burning, burning like ice, burning-

There were hands on her face, cradling her cheeks. “Let go of it, my darling,” Nadifa said urgently, holding her firm when she would have tried to pull away. “Just relax and let go, let it dissipate. I know you can do it.”

Corinne opened her mouth to snarl her defiance, to hiss and let the power run riot-

“Please, my darling, come back to me!”

\- and choked instead, sagging against Nadifa as the violence and the fury left her in a flood. Her mother had clearly been expecting such a reaction and caught her without flinching, carefully easing her to the ground where she tucked her over her lap and cradled her to her fiercely. 

“My darling girl,” Nadifa murmured, rocking her backwards and forwards in a soothing motion. “My dear, beautiful girl.”

Corinne couldn’t stop shaking, trembling so violently that her teeth chattered no matter how hard she clenched her jaw. Her hands were like ice, but Nadifa did not seem to mind at all, gripping her fingers tightly in hers as she whispered encouragement to her. Outside, the storm continued to rage- she could feel the tug and the pull of it in her blood, as it snarled on the end of the leash she’d tethered it with- and she buried her face in Nadifa’s blouse.

“Breathe, my darling,” Nadifa said, running her hand over her back. “Just relax and breathe- you can let it all go now, the danger has passed.”

In the void left by the anger, shame flooded in; Corinne couldn’t have held back the tears if she’d wanted to, and she was sobbing wildly between one breath and the next, overwhelmed by grief and horror at what she had so easily fallen to. “I’m so sorry,” she choked, shoulders heaving as she fought to control herself. “I’m so sorry, mama.”

“My girl, you have no need to apologise,” Nadifa said, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she continued to rock her gently. “You were so brave-”

“I lost control,” Corinne sobbed miserably. “I could have killed us all. I’m so sorry, I should never-”

“You are a _gift_ ,” Nadifa said, tears in her eyes as she cradled her face in her hands. “With or without your magic, you have been the greatest joy in my life, and you need never apologise to me for your powers. I have been honoured and humbled to be your mother and your teacher, and if anything, I need to apologise to you for not helping you to understand your own limits better.”

Corinne whimpered and hid her face in Nadifa’s blouse. “No, mama, no- none of this is your fault, this is all me.”

Nadifa laughed shakily, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair, and then another. “My darling girl,” she whispered. “Why don’t we just agree that we both have things to work on?”

In the coming days, Nadifa and Corinne kept to the shack, warily eyeing the path towards the manor and expecting at any moment to hear the rattle of armoured feet- but it never came. Lord Trevelyan did not make good on his threat, but neither did they attempt to test his patience. Corinne stayed away from the greenhouse and the gardens, though it pained her more than she had words to say. 

And instead she worked with Nadifa on improving her control, on acknowledging the growing threat that demons posed to her, and on meditating to gain a better grasp of her powers. 

And she swore to any god or spirit or prophet who might be listening that she would never allow herself to fall that far ever again. 

_Ever._


	7. 9.40 Dragon

Corinne crested the last hill before home, grinning tiredly as she saw the familiar shape of the land spread out before her. There were pockets of shadow in the dips in the landscape, the setting sun behind her as she resettled the bag on her shoulder and set off down the trail as it wound down towards the edge of the woods.

She felt the forest stir and awaken as she stepped beneath the canopy, like a faithful old dog stretching from its place by the fire before trotting over to greet a long-absent master. She smiled and held her hands out to either side as she walked, fingertips brushing over the trunks of the trees, tasting the air and delighting in the way the world around her slowly responded to her. 

It told a thousand stories to her, in a language she could not explain if she’d tried- she learned of new nests and warrens, of passing Dalish, of children playing and interlopers hiding in the cover of the trees. She listened, and heard of fallen trees and rock falls, of termites burrowing out of sight. She concentrated, and she tasted blood shed by prey beneath the crushing jaws of hunters, and the bitter sting of leaves best left alone. 

So many stories, all in the space of a breath; she smiled delightedly, soaking in the experience. She was home again, and she could not have been happier. 

She had less than a half hour of daylight left, but that didn’t matter that much to her. She could have walked these woods with her eyes closed, had she wanted to; tonight, with the weather clear and the forest welcoming her, she probably could have walked home in her sleep. 

Patting the bag as it bumped against her hip, she smiled. “I’m sure you’re going to love it here,” she said, swapping it to the opposite shoulder to give her aching back a brief reprieve. “You’re definitely going to get spoiled rotten, at the very least.” 

The walk was not a long one- it took her only another hour before she could make out lights in the distance, the manor well-illuminated even if the family were in the capital at the moment. She couldn’t say she missed them, although she would have loved to have taken advantage of their time away to wander the gardens without being chased off with a broom for once. But, then again, with all the political upheaval lately, she couldn’t say she blamed them for travelling back to the city early.

She just hoped there was still some supper left for her to snare. 

She fished her house key out from under her tunic as she drew closer to the shack, glad to see the glow from the windows and the smoke curling from the chimney. Grinning widely, she slid the key into the lock and did a little dance as the door swung open in front of her. 

“Knock knock,” she called, dancing inside, “guess who’s home?”

She did not receive the reaction that she had anticipated. Nadifa and Benan were sitting at the table in bleak silence, and both of them looked up in alarm at her entrance. Corinne skidded to a halt, arms still outstretched as she hesitated, taking in the scene in greater detail. 

Both of their eyes were red and bloodshot, their faces puffy, as if they had recently been crying, and they were eating one-handed while they held hands tightly in the centre of the table. 

And they were looking at her as they’d just seen a ghost. 

She let her arms fall back to her sides, a tiny worm of fear burrowing into her stomach. “Mama?” she said hesitantly. “Papa?”

Nadifa let out a relieved sob, half hidden behind her hand, and then her parents were on her, leaping up out of their chairs and crushing her between them. She squawked in alarm, not expecting such a reaction from them. “Easy, easy, you’ll crush the seedling!” she said, quickly unhooking the bag from her shoulder and sliding it across the floor to rest against the wall. “It’s alright, I’m alright! What ever has happened?”

Her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead, tears brimming in her eyes, and then hurried from the room with her hand over her mouth. Perplexed and alarmed, Corinne looked to Benan. “Papa?”

He shuddered and hugged her tightly. “She has gone to thank the spirits for your safe return,” he said, his own voice shaky. “We... we had begun to think you were dead.”

“Dead!” She pulled away to an arm’s length, looking into his face to see if he was jesting. She saw only grief in his expression, and the fear in her stomach blossomed. “Why would you think that? I know I took a little longer than I promised, but I spent a week in the Tellari Swamps on my way home and I found some fascinating samples and I...” She trailed off. “Why would you think that? What’s happened.”

“We have had a letter from home,” Benan said softly, glancing back to where Nadifa sat before their tiny house shrine. “The Circle of Dairsmuid has been annulled.”

Corinne’s smile died slowly. “Annulled?” she whispered, her blood turning to ice. “But, I was just _in_ Rivain, and there was... oh... _oh no_ , not cousin Luula...?”

Benan grimaced, and then shook his head once. “Your grandmother made certain before she wrote,” he said. “And she told us that you had left already, but then the letter made it here before you did...”

“And you thought I’d been caught in the aftermath,” Corinne finished, horrified. 

“There is news in the west that the Circle Towers have declared their independence, and that Orlais has fallen into civil war,” he said. “People are being killed on the road for very little provocation, and mages even more so.”

She felt ill. “Papa,” she whispered, touching his cheek. “Oh, spirits, I’m so sorry. If I’d known-”

“The important thing is that you’re home now,” he said quickly, putting his hand over hers. He breathed out slowly, his jaw working. “You should go to your mother- she has not been taking your absence very well.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath before kissing him quickly on the cheek. He smiled sadly at her, and then nodded in the direction of the back room. Corinne walked over slowly, hesitating in the doorway; her mother was on her kneels before the shrine, head bowed, and she did not look up immediately at the sound of Corinne’s approach. 

Corinne sank down beside her, making enough noise so that her mother would know she was there, but not so much that she might interrupt whatever prayers she was in the middle of. The bedroom was dim but for the light of three candles on the shrine, and the tiny red smoulder of an incense stick. She reached over silently and took Nadifa’s hand in hers, and sat beside her in the dark and waited.

She felt like an ass, for not having sensed her mother’s grief and rushed home to be at her side. But even in her sorrow, she was still the most beautiful woman Corinne had ever seen, and she reached forward and brushed a tear from her cheek, drawing Nadifa’s attention to her at last.

“Tell me what I can do,” she said earnestly, smoothing her thumbs over her mother’s knuckles, feeling the way they shook. “Ask anything of me, and it will be done.”

Nadifa smiled at her as if her heart was breaking, tears welling up in her eyes. “My beautiful girl,” Nadifa whispered, squeezing her hands in hers. “I have always loved you, with everything in me. The Maker blessed me indeed when He brought you into my life.”

Corinne smiled in return, trying not to let her lip tremble. “You have been the greatest influence and love in my life,” she said, her voice cracking on the emotions that were creeping up inside of her. “I could not have asked for a better mother, and I am so sorry I hurt you this way.”

“I have told you before, you have nothing to apologize for, my darling.” Nadifa smoothed her hair back, cupping her face in her hands. “You are home now, and that is all that matters.”

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Corinne said. “Nothing could make me leave your side now.”

It was an easier promise to break than she would have preferred.

***

The weeks went by, and then months, and then years- through it all, Corinne kept to the woods. The Trevelyans did not return to the manor, and the news from the world beyond did not improve. War had come to Thedas, on a scale that had not been seen in centuries. 

She was not so curious about the world beyond that she would risk her own safety to see it. If it was better in the long run that she stay in her own little pocket of sanctuary, she could accept that. As long as she could still run beneath the moonlight and stand atop the tallest tree to watch the sunrise, as long as she could nap in the long grass of an isolated gulley, as long as she could feel the sun on her skin and the soil between her toes, she would be happy. 

But change was coming, and not even her woodland refuge could hide her forever. 

She could tell that something was bothering her parents a few weeks before they approached her- they were restless, distracted. More than once she caught them in deep discussion, only for their conversation to cease abruptly once they realised she was within hearing range. 

It came to a head one evening, when she returned for supper only to find them sitting and waiting for her, dinner all but forgotten for the moment. 

She hesitated in the doorway, aware of the magnitude of the moment; there was power in the air, the signifier for change, and that frightened her. She licked her lips nervously. “Can I- help with dinner, perhaps?” she asked awkwardly.

Nadifa sighed. “My love, please, have a seat. Your father and I need to talk to you.”

Such a statement did nothing to ease her nerves, but she slid into the seat opposite dutifully. She sat on her hands to keep them from fiddling. “So,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice, “what is this about?”

Her parents looked at one another, and Benan nodded slightly, as if encouraging Nadifa to speak. They turned back to her, hands clasped together for strength. “I have been in communication with some old friends,” Nadifa said, her expression earnest. “There is... news, of a sort.”

Corinne looked between them, searching their faces for some indication as to what was about to transpire. “This news, I assume, is relevant to me in some fashion.”

Nadifa nodded, taking a deep breath. She was clearly nervous. “There is to be a convergence,” she said, “a great meeting, to try to bring about an end to the conflict between the mages and the Chantry.”

Corinne waited for her to continue, but Nadifa stopped there, as if expecting her to understand the significance of such a meeting. “I... I hope for everyone involved that the deliberations are peaceful,” she said, unsure of what else she could possibly contribute. 

“We think it would be best if you went along,” Benan said gently.

“Wh-,” Corrine started.

“Whatever happens as a result of this conclave will affect you for the rest of your life,” Nadifa said, continuing on from her husband. “You are a powerful young woman, and your voice deserves to be heard- and who knows how many other men and women across Thedas you will be speaking on behalf of.”

She could only stare at them, blinking in confusion. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly, “but let me see if I understand you rightly. You think that I should go to a meeting between the mages and the Chantry?”

“That is correct.”

She let out a dismayed noise. “I have no interest in how the Circle mages conduct themselves,” she said, “and I certainly do not care to take the risk of being mixed up amongst them should things go poorly.”

“Darling,” Nadifa said, reaching over and gesturing for her to give her her hand. Corinne very reluctantly pulled her hand out from under her thigh and took her mother’s hand. “You cannot hide in the woods forever- and even if you want to make a better life for yourself elsewhere, the decisions made at this conclave will affect that. Even if you decide to return to the rest of the family in Rivain, we have seen how very easily a place we considered to be safe came to be nothing but a trap.”

Corinne swallowed, thinking of how very close she had come to disaster, leaving Dairsmuid only days before the Circle must have been annulled. 

“The conclave is taking place in Ferelden,” Benan said. “It’s in a place known as Haven.”

She frowned. “I’ve never heard of Haven- is it large enough to host this sort of venture?”

“As far as we can tell, it’s a little hamlet up in the mountains,” Nadifa said, and she smiled briefly. “If you’ll recall, it’s where Lady Cousland found the Urn of Sacred Ashes during the Blight.”

Corinne rolled her eyes. “Well, no wonder I hadn’t heard of it- I’m afraid I’m a little behind on my lessons on Chantry history.” She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in her voice. 

Her mother continued smoothly, ignoring the comment. “There will be representatives from all of the mage factions across Thedas, as well as the various templar chapters and clergy from the Chantry itself. If ever there was a time to involve yourself in the world beyond, it is now, my love.” She stood up and went to the fire, unhooking the kettle with her apron wrapped around her hand to guard against the heat. “And besides, the ability for you to remain a silent observer and not interact with the conclave is a strong point in your favour.”

She chewed nervously on her lip. “And it’s in the mountains, you said? I haven’t spent a lot of time in the snow before.”

“Since when have you ever been out of your element in the wilderness?” Benan said, smoothing down her hair with a smile that did little to hide his trepidation. “If you don’t want them to know you’re there, they won’t stand a chance.”

“But I’ve never faced a templar before,” she said, looking between her parents. “And there will be so many of them there.”

“This will be a grand opportunity for you to learn what the free mage factions plan to do going forward,” Nadifa said, offering her a steaming mug. “You cannot stay here forever in the shadow of the Trevelyan’s manor, waiting for their patience to dwindle to naught. There will come a day when they will not be so tolerant of the existence of their long-lost daughter.”

“And so, what? I’m to join the Circle instead?”

“The mages have declared the Circle towers to be no more,” Nadifa reminded her patiently. “Perhaps you will find like-minded young men and women among their ranks, who dream of a life in the wild without walls to hold them back.”

“And perhaps I will be rounded up with the rest of them and locked away behind cold stone for the rest of my foreseeable life.”

“I have faith that you will be more than capable of avoiding such a fate,” Nadifa said fondly. “But to that end, you are right to be worried, and I can only encourage you to be vigilant while there.”

“Mama?”

“Even the gentlest men and women will rot and decay over time if they drink nothing but poison,” Nadifa said. “You must never let your guard down with any who bear the mark of the Chant with pride.”

“Surely there are exceptions to the rule, though? Faith does not necessarily make one hateful, after all...”

Nadifa shook her head sharply. “Never a Sister, never a Seeker, and certainly never a Templar. There are even some mages who have given in to despair and supped from the same tainted cup. Any who adhere to the word of the Chant so closely that they would choose to dedicate their life to it will never see your gift as anything but a scourge. You _cannot_ trust them.”

Corinne’s fingers tightened around the mug. “And yet you would encourage me to go to a meeting where there will be dozens of such individuals, if not hundreds,” she said pointedly.

“And I would stand before the Maker himself and spit in his face before I would let him take you from me,” Nadifa said fiercely. “You are not the child of my flesh, but you are the child of my heart, and no one will dare to touch you will I draw breath. But that does not mean that I do not trust you to defend yourself, and to make your own way in the world.”

“Easier said than done,” Corinne muttered.

Her mother’s hands closed around hers as she clutched the mug. “Be proud of your magic, dear heart,” Nadifa said. “Never doubt that you are intended for greatness, that yours truly is a gift and a blessing. And believe in yourself, as I believe in you. Even if the cards did not imply that this was the right path for you, I would still have faith in you.”

Corinne looked into her eyes, desperate for even a fraction of the certainty Nadifa felt. Finally she sighed. “Even if I do not trust your cards, I trust you.” She took a deep breath. “And if you believe I must go to this conclave, I will go.” 

They both relaxed quite visibly, and it occurred to her that they’d been immensely worried about her reaction to their news. It hurt, more than she wanted to admit, that they had feared her response that badly. 

“Tell no one the extent of your gifts,” he mother was saying. “Keep your shapeshifting a secret, and trust no one unless absolutely necessary. I have a few charms you can wear that will limit your magical aura to any outside observers- some templars have been trained to detect mages just from sense alone. I have a necklace from your grandmother that will dampen your gift enough that they will not look at you twice.”

It seemed there was nothing else she could say to object.

She took a deep breath, hiding the way her hands shook by wrapping them around the mug. “Alright then,” she said, “how do I get to Haven?”


End file.
